Friday, July 13, 2007

My dear God,

A reunion, a spiritual reunion with old friends. How could I have known we would run in to each other at the monastery?

We had driven to the Franciscan Monastery in Kennebunk, Maine for a "living water" exercise. I had been to the monastery several times to visit, peaceful, tranquil. What I did not know was that there were trails at the back of the monastery leading to the ocean. Someone had told me a few days ago of their existence. I vowed to take the retreatants here for a spiritual encounter.

When we arrived, I gave a few words of instruction then released them for the solo walk in silence. I was in the middle of the group, taking my place in the line of women who spaced off so we would not be in each other's space.

While I was certain I would find this nature walk a superb way to meet up with you, I did not know the spiritual friends who awaited me on the trail. The first was St. Francis. Life size he stood near a dry fountain, two animal friends standing at peace with him. The moment my eyes lay upon him, my own spirit was warmed. Love emerged from inside of me. I thought of all the moments he had called out to me while I was on my pilgrim journey in France. His home, the places he had visited during his lifetime, his burial site. I had read books about him before leaving. And then I saw him, felt his presence, was reunited with him after so long a time. A spiritual mentor and friend, I had left his path years before, just too busy to spend time with him. The "coming together" was a spiritual high for me.

I stood a while with St. Francis at the monastery before moving on down the path. Beautiful ferns moved gently back and forth in the breeze among the tall trees lining the trail. As I walked prayerfully down the path, I saw a small glassed in wooden box affixed to a tree. I saw some writing ,just beneath it. St. Therese, my dear old friend, St. Therese.

I have lived with St. Therese for nearly twenty years at the Carmelite Monastery where I worship and covenant with my spiritual friends every Wednesday. I had poured over books about her, read her own journals, fell in love with her devout spirituality as I prepared for my clergy renewal leave. Dying in her early 20's she has left behind a love for God, a life of faithfulness, a witness to faith known around the world.

I read the words beneath the box containing a replica of St. Therese. My heart was jarred open as I read familiar words I have heard before and I remembered...traveling to Lisieux, France, visiting churches where she was baptized and worshipped. Her early childhood home, places where she visited. I had stood at a replica of her glassed in coffin where she lay in repose, barely an adult when she died. I had lighted a candle in a small red glass at the cathedral built in her honor. I had knelt before her likeness and given praise, allowing my tears of joy to flow freely. I had walked with her those days and felt myself light as a feather being rocked gently back and forth by the spirit of God, by you, Gentle Savior. Oh, how I love St. Therese.

I touched the written words, then leaned in to kiss them, words that speak so powerfully of faith and this faithful one. St. Therese had drawn me on this day of retreat and I was so glad for the encounter. I stood in silence offering thanks for this spiritually powerful woman.

And then I continued my walk. Just around the paved curve, I could see the ocean just ahead, but the one who stood waiting for me just to my right was an even greater, happier sight. St. Bernadette, St. Bernadette, the child of poverty who had witnessed an apparition. Looking for sticks to sell in order to gain enough money to feed her siblings and parents, at age seven she had seen Mary, ever virgin. She had gone back again and again to the grotto multiple times waiting, listening, transfixed by Our Lady. Thousands would follow this faith-filled child where many would come to faith.

Her witness was sorely tested by church officials who denounced her spiritual encounter with the mother of God. But she never waivered, not once. A bishop fell at her feet and believed. Another cathedral was built remembering this visitation where healing waters sprang forth, where millions visit every year. I had joined the line of spiritual pilgrims waiting to touch the water, the tiny trickle of water that comes from the rock in the grotto. I had eased my hand forward, not knowing what to expect, how to feel, what to do and I had felt the cold water on my hand. I had touched my face, my head and heart and I had prayed allowing my tears to blend with the living water. I had sat on the benches spiritually gazing upon the other pilgrims, many in wheel chairs, on crutches.

I will not be able to remove the sight of a father pushing the wheel chair of his ailing son whose arms involuntarily flailed about. I saw this dad push the chair into the grotto and when he came to the water he took it upon his hands, then rubbed it all over his son's head, kissing him. He had put his son's hands upon the cold stone and they had stilled. Never have I seen such a beautiful sight. A father's love. A son trusting.

For two days we had remained in Lourdes, a tiny community of 19,000 people where triple that come to visit every weekend, at least when we were there. All, hearts full of faith, hopes, dreams and prayers. I saw faith walking in the streets, kneeling at the grotto, in the candlelight pilgrimage where thousands stood at night holding lighted candles singing psalms. I had kissed the feet of St. Bernadette remembering her horrible struggle with illness, yet remaining faithful to the Jesus she loved.

And now she stood before me, an old friend, still speaking to me of faith. I read the words accompanying the replica of the saint and these too were familiar. I was so happy, so filled with spiritual love both for the saints and for you, my glorious God. Again I leaned in to kiss the words, giving you my praise and my joy.

I continued on my journey, so full of you, full of faith, full of joy and peace. Memories filling me with an extra dose for my remembrance later.

I now sat at the shrine of Mary, mother of God whose birthday I celebrate with the sisters on August 8. I've purchased yellow roses, bought the most delicious cake to share. I have prayed prayers on that day, merging my heart with my beloved Carmelite sisters. And now I stood at the shrine to celebrate.

As the retreatants sat on the steps just inside the shrine, I shared my happiness, my inner joy and I knew I had been turned inside out, my spirit shining, beaming with joy. "Destined, I was destined for this walk today, visiting my beloved friends." I shared with the women.

A simple spiritual walk had lead me back to lead me forward. Monastery life beating mystically in my heart.

Loving God,
my heart is full of you.
I am so filled
with your grace.
Knowing you
is greater
than knowing anyone
on earth.
My moments with you
are greater
than moments with anyone else.
My love
at this moment
spills over
my brim,
telling me once again
that silent moments
with always lead me to you.
Hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come
on earth
as it is in heaven.
My love to you,
my God and my Redeemer,
always.

Love, Andrea